


Enough

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Shitty half poetry, sfw, the boys r kinda sad, this is dumb take it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21947770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Feels kinda insensitive and I hate it but here y’all go
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Feels kinda insensitive and I hate it but here y’all go

There were days during wartime when time would double on itself, and Bucky would turn insatiable. He’d clamp his dog tags between his teeth, stare at Steve from across the room: the shallowest type of infatuation, nothing that couldn’t be fixed by a drink and a woman on his arm. 

It was inappropriate at the time, in that place, but between then and now, the drunken lust had been replaced by a bitter apathy. Steve much preferred the longing glances, though he couldn’t exactly be angry at now-Bucky for anything. Not the past, not the present. Bucky was blameless. 

The first thing they’d bothered to tell him about were the camps. Bucky had died before that key detail about the war was disclosed to the public. Concentration camps, then the moon landing. It was quite a spectrum of human achievement for Bucky to learn of in just a few seconds. 

He spent weeks mourning. He had this moleskin notebook that he began to tediously take down names in. He’d go to the museum, write until his hand seized up, and return home and read them over. It drove Steve insane with grief, but what could he say? It was decades ago to Steve, but days ago to Bucky. He was allowed to mourn. 

“He went to our school.” He’d sometimes say, turn over a name for Steve to examine. 

Bucky’s memory was spotty like that. Specific details were crisp and clear in his mind, while whole years were blank. 

“I remember.” Steve often did. That was the hardest part. 

When those names were done, he migrated to other tragedies. Hurricane Katrina. 9/11. Pages of names. Front and back. 

One week, Steve picked up a book on the AIDS crisis, since he couldn’t seem to sway Bucky’s fixation on tragedy. He found imitations of Keith Harring pieces scattered on his bedside table for the next little while, wedged between his sketchbook pages and under books. Bucky seemed to understand why some tragedies affected Steve more than others. He seemed to remember. 

Bucky had lived in a cot in Steve’s apartment for the first little while. He’d refused to sleep on it until about the second week, opting only to lay on the floor. After the pity party was over, he accepted his fate, and moved into the temporary bed. First he’d kick the covers off. Then he learned to enjoy them. He learned to use the shower. He let Steve trim a few inches of his hair in the bathroom mirror. He slowly learned not to wallow in grief. 

Sometimes he’d climb into Steve’s bed at night, always assuring him that the arrangement was temporary. Eventually, they got rid of the cot. He flinched at any form of contact at first, but learned to initiate it himself- learned that it was warmer pressed up against Steve’s side- and cozied up whenever he saw fit. 

Steve wanted it- god, he wanted it- but there was something holding him back. Something that made him feel like more of a captor than a lover. Bucky didn’t have any means to resist a kiss or anything more- it wasn’t that he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, not from Steve. Not from the man who housed and clothed him. In his mind, if he resisted, he’d be out in the cold. In both of their minds, they knew that they had never been just friends, but neither could tell the other as such. 

So, they both turned to Natasha, and Natasha turned back to both and told them to just get it over with. 

“I love you.” Bucky said. Why did it feel so familiar? 

“I love you too.” It seemed to transcend time. It seemed to say: “I loved you then, I love you now, I’ll love you forever.” Bucky’s state was constantly changing. The only consistency was Steve. Somehow, time had pinned the two right on top of each other. Somehow, it wasn’t coincidence. And while it made the sad parts seem very sad, it made them necessary, in a way, if only just to learn, if only to appreciate the good. 

Bucky kept the notebook. Bucky had a new notebook, too, where he’d write down the good things. Sometimes he’d let Steve draw in it. That was a good thing, too. Humanity had become a dark and looming place while he’d been gone, but for every tragedy there were a million flowers and dogs and cherry pies, and perhaps in the wake of darkness, that was enough. 

Yes, that was just enough.


End file.
